“If we can unite to surrender,” said one elder, “we can to fight,”
Then it came to Kurt, like an incredibly bad dream: the human weapons in the citadel.
He fled, startling Kta, startling the Indras, so that the guard at the gate nearly ran him through before he recognized him in the dark.
But Elas’ human had leave to go where he would.
Heart near to bursting, Kurt raced through the battlefield of the court, up the stairs, into the heights of the Afen.
Even those on watch in the Methi’s hall did not challenge him until he ordered them sharply from the room and drew his ypan and threatened them. They yielded before his wild frenzy, hysterical as he was, and fled out.
“Call t’Elas,” a young son of Ilev urged the others. “He can deal with this madman.”
Kurt slammed the door and locked it, overturned the table and wrestled it into position against the door, working with both hands now, barring it with yet more furniture. They struck it from the outside, but it was secure. Then they went away.
He sank down, trembling, too weary to move. In time he heard the voice of Kta, of Bel, even Pai pleading with him.
“What are you doing?” Kta cried through the door. “My friend, what do you plan to do?”
But it was a Sufaki’s voice, not Bel’s, that urged on him the inevitable.
“You hold the weapons that could destroy the Indras fleet, that could free our city. A curse on you if you will not help us!”
But only Kta and Bel did he answer, and then always the same: “Go away. I am staying here.”
In time they did go away, and he relaxed somewhat, until he heard a gentle stirring at his barricade.
“Who is there?” he shouted out.
“My lord,” said Pai’s fearful voice from near the floor. “My lord, you will not use those weapons, will you?”
“No,” he said, “I will not.”
“They would have forced you. Not Kta. Not Bel. They would not harm you. But some would have “forced you. They wanted to attack. Kta persuaded them not to. Please, may I come in?”
“No, Pai. I do not trust even you.”
“I will watch here all night, my lord. I will tell you if they come.”
“You do not blame me, because I will not do what they want?”
There was a long hesitation. “Djan also would not do what they wished. I honored her. I will watch for you, my lord. Rest. I will not sleep.”
He sat down then on the only remaining chair, with his head leaning back, and though he did not intend to, he slept for little periods. Sometimes he would ask Pai whether she slept, but her voice was always there, faithful and calm.
Then came morning, through the glass of the window that overlooked the west. When he went to look out, the sullen light exposed the whole of a great war fleet moving into the harbor.
Ylith’s fleet had come.
He waited for a long time after they had docked. There was no sign of fighting. Eventually he sent Pai downstairs to spy out what was happening.
“There are Indras lords in the lower hall,” she reported, “strangers. But they have been told you are here. They are trying to decide whether to attack this door or not. My lord, I am afraid.”
“Leave the door,” he told her. But she did not. He still heard her stirring occasionally outside.
Then he went around the various centers of the section, Wrecking machinery, smashing delicate circuits.
“What are you doing?” Pai cried, when she heard the noise.
He did not trouble to answer. He dismantled the power sources as far as he could, the few handweapons he found also, everything. Then he took away the barricade before the door.
She waited outside, her large eyes wide with fear and with wonder-perhaps no little shock-for he was filthy and bloody and almost staggering with exhaustion.
“They have not threatened you?” he asked.
She bowed her head gravely. “No, lord. They feared to make you angry. They know the power of the weapons.”